


Stealing Tomorrow

by KalendraAshtar



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Angst present, Complete, F/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-20 07:42:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9481478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KalendraAshtar/pseuds/KalendraAshtar
Summary: Jamie and Claire were young and in love – until their relationship came to a heartbreaking end. After fifteen years, when Claire comes back to Scotland and her path crosses again with Jamie’s, they have a second chance to prove that they are meant to be together.





	1. In media res

**Chapter 1 – _In media res_**

**_Edinburgh, Present day_ **

Claire was lulled by the subtle trepidation and constant movement of the train – she would terribly miss it when she started to drive her car around Edinburgh. The daily train journey allowed her precious moments to think, to contemplate – and sometimes to be lost in nothing but mere existence. She fancied to observe the ever-changing mass of people around her – mothers composing their toddler’s beanies, friends discussing the rugby game from last night – the referee wasn’t exactly a popular person that particular morning! -, high school girls talking about a dreaded chemistry test, lovers kissing goodbye. The fleeting touches of lips, the hands that searched each other, the promise to return living inside their smiles. She closed her eyes, blocking the image. _Don’t think_.

When she felt steady enough, she opened her eyes and looked through the window, visualizing the right-handed vicryl knot she’d learned so many years ago. She thought about Mister Stein, by then nervously waiting for her to come and close his colostomy, allowing him to run freely after his granddaughter again.

The Royal Infirmary of Edinburgh was now her home, after so many years in Boston. It had been a great opportunity – she was still young at thirty-five and the move back to Scotland had represented a huge climb in the hierarchy of a surgeon’s career. She directed her own team and people from all over Scotland came searching for the best general surgeon in the country – and that was synonym of Claire Beauchamp and her unit.

The train rushed near a park, the large treetops undulating on the morning’s wind. She had been there before – on her previous life. She remembered how she had lain in a blanket, the scent of crushed leaves and growing grass filling her nostrils, the sun’s warmth in her face. A light touch on her cheek and then his voice “ _I love ye, mo nighean donn_ ”.

_Don’t think._

She still had a couple of hours before her scheduled surgeries – unable to sleep past dawn, she made herself useful by lending a hand on the A&E department. Frequently, young interns were puzzled when they arrived to do rounds only to discover her already doing stitches on a hand or evaluating a tender belly.

As soon as she entered the sliding doors, Claire realized that all elective surgeries would be pushed on that day and all available hands called to work on the emergency department – gurneys pilled the corridor, nurses ran hectically around carrying trays and saline bags and her friend, Joe Abernathy, was doing triage like a general commanding troops to war.

“What happened?” She asked him, jumping to the side in order to avoid being bumped by a crash cart being wheeled to a curtain near them. “You should have paged me!”

“I knew you were coming either way, Lady Jane.” He shrugged, wincing as he tried to complete the central line he was placing. “Seemed like a waste of precious time. A residential fire near Murrayfield – some casualties already and plenty of wounded still coming. Here,” He pushed a chart in her direction. “Take this one. I believe he’s the Station Officer – hurt himself saving a couple of his men. The rest of the firefighters here are giving me hell to make sure he’s well taken care of.”

“Alright.” She gave an evaluating look to the elderly man whom Joe was treating. “His left leg is broken – save him a trip to the X-ray.”

Joe gave her an irritated – but still somewhat amused – look. “If only I was a pretty witch like you. Alright, alright!”

Claire quickly changed into her scrubs, neatly wrapping her curls into a functional bun, and marched to curtain four to tend the brave firefighter.

The first thing she saw was his hair. The striking mixture of auburn, amber, cinnabar, copper and cinnamon. She could still feel it, between her fingers – slightly moist after their lovemaking; curling when he laid his head on her lap, surrendering into her keeping. Her heart was galloping, so much so her chest hurt – fear and pain gripped her, until her soul was curled into an infinitesimal display of what she once had been. _It couldn’t be_.

His hand had been roughly ligated on the scene, but hints of blood were beginning to appear – like drops from a brush on an empty canvas. He had his eyes closed, but his forehead was wrinkled in pain – was that little scar on the edge of his cheek new? Or in her efforts to forget, she had effectively managed to erase something of him from her memory?

She halted by his bed, a sudden rush of bile coming up her throat, as if her insides were actually threatening to reverse themselves. Claire silently contemplated him, breathing deeply.

Jamie opened his eyes, sensing a nearby presence. He stared at her and smiled – so tenderly, that unwanted tears welled up in her eyes.

“It’s good to see ye again, Sassenach.”

****

**_Broch Mordha, 15 years ago_ **

Claire pedalled furiously, pushing her bicycle forward across the slippery hill, green and purple from the heather and thistles blurring around her. She was terribly late – her alarm clock had been turned off after electricity failed the previous night, courtesy of another summer thunderstorm. She didn’t exactly have a rigorous schedule, but she hated to fail her commitments – and was sure that her first patient, a sour and somewhat irascible eighty year old man with a foot ulcer, wouldn’t fail to notice her lateness.

Coming to the countryside for the summer had been a sudden decision – she liked the opportunity of leaving the city’s crowd and the constant rush; and being able to combine that with some medical work had seemed perfect. Her volunteer work at Broch Mordha’s small, yet capable, general practice was a good addition to her curriculum and a chance to keep her skills sharp during the summer break from Medical School. So when the opportunity had presented itself on the notice board of her dorm, she applied without further thought.

She could already see the small building, slightly croaked in appearance after having been expanded and rebuilt after a series of unfortunate meteorological events, appearing after the next turn of the earthy path. Her second-hand ride - a rusty but functional bicycle purchased for the grand total of fifteen pounds and the promise of free consults for the duration of her staying - slid on the mud, almost projecting her to the ground like a temperamental stallion.

“Bloody thing!” She hissed, struggling to control the erratic movements of the ancient wheels.

After parking without further disgraceful events, she debrided and cleaned the wound already expecting her, patiently ignoring the grousing and cursing involved in the process. While she carefully washed her hands and packed some clean bandages for the old man to take with him, she silently congratulated herself on the substantial improvements obtained.

“Is there anything else I could do, Maisri?” She asked the young nurse in charge for the day, absorbed in doing inventory of their drugs cabinet.

“Oh, aye!” She said cheerfully, smiling to her. Maisri was only ten years older than Claire and they got along very well. “A laddie came in while ye were tending Old Grumpy. Got himself in some kind of brawl – I expect seeing yer bonny smile will do him some good, even if there’s no sae much ye can do for his cuts and bruises.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Claire blushed, gently slapping Maisri’s shoulder. “He probably needs a good smacking to learn how to behave like a man and I ain’t his Mama.”

“Wait until ye see him.” The nurse laughed and winked. “Young Jamie is quite…remarkable.”

Claire snorted in disbelief and, taking hold of a chart to complete his medical history, walked towards the small treatment area.

When she opened the door, Claire immediately understood Maisri’s words – the young man waiting for her was unbelievably tall, even slightly curved as he was on the gurney, clearly uncomfortable of finding himself in such shameful circumstances. His face had enough softness and angles about it to make him very handsome, as only a man can be – the curve of his jaw was beautifully made, as was his almost-too-long-nose and his high cheekbones.

“Hello, Mister…” Claire squinted, trying to decipher Maisri’s temperamental handwriting. “Fraser?”

“Yes.” He nodded, still looking down, as if completely immersed on the design of her sneakers. “But Jamie is just fine.”

“Alright, Jamie.” She tilted her head, noticing the bruise that was flourishing on his left cheekbone and the cut on his bottom lip. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

He whispered something that sounded an awful lot like “Not really.” Claire raised a brow and folded her arms, summoning her best _doctor in charge_ look.

“I can’t help you unless you tell me what happened.” She said with assertiveness. “Everything you tell me is confidential, you know.” Claire added softly. “Unless you killed someone.” She ended as an afterthought.

Jamie snorted with mirth and raised his eyes to her – he seemed surprised for a moment and then his face relaxed into stillness, like curtains closing to hide an ongoing theatre play, shielding the actors from the eyes of the audience.

“No one was murdered.” He assured her. “I wouldna have come – ‘tis naught but scrapes – but Laoghaire insisted that I should come and I didn’t want to worry the lass more than she already was.”

“Is Laoghaire your girlfriend?” Claire asked nonchalantly, preparing some iodine to clean the wounds.

“No.” He shook his head, his eyes for a moment capturing hers, as if it was vital to him that she knew that piece of information to be true. “We are acquainted – everyone is, I guess, in a wee place like this. His father has a wicked temper and a steady hand with the belt.”

“Oh.” Claire said, surprised. She slowly began to touch his face, softly, easing the burn of the medicine with light touches on his face. “You tried to protect her from him, then?”

“Aye.” Jamie offered her an embarrassed half smile. “He saw us talking when he stepped out of the pub – she was just asking about my horse that was injured – and he came screaming the worst insults ye can possibly imagine for a lass, thinking that she was offering herself to me. He slapped her right there and then, in front of everyone in the square.”

“Some people really make me question Darwin.” Claire rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure Laoghaire’s father has evolved anything at all from the Neanderthal. And then?” She went to the small fridge in the corner and retrieved a small ice pack, which she skilfully applied to his face.

“He grabbed her arm and tried to drag her home.” Jamie groaned. “I’m not in love with Laoghaire – much to our family’s displeasure – but I couldn’t let her be mistreated for something she didn’t do - and on my account. So I got him into a bear hug – _might_ have punched his nose too – and she fled while he was busy handling me. He dinna like it one bit.”

“That was very chivalrous.” Claire smiled, impressed. “Luckily your zygomatic bone doesn’t seem to be broken. If you apply plenty of ice and disinfect the wounds, everything will heal nicely.”

“I thank ye, Doctor…I’m sorry, I didn’t get yer name.” Their glances met and she noticed his disarming blue eyes.

“I’m just a medical student.” She shrugged and offered her hand for him to shake. “Claire Beauchamp, at your service.”

“Claire.” He repeated, smiling, holding her hand longer than it was strictly necessary. Something in the way he said her name – his Highland lilt making it seem like he was savouring every letter that compounded the word – made her toes curl and small shivers shot through her spine, like evanescent bubbles on sweet champagne. “Are ye staying for the whole summer, then?”

“Yes.” Claire blew a stubborn curl that had managed to escape her bun. “Maybe I’ll see ye around, Jamie. Take care of yourself.”

“Perhaps we could go to the cinema.” Jamie said slowly, holding the ice pack against his cheek. “Ye probably have seen whatever is on – it takes about six months for a movie to debut here. But I’ll buy the popcorn – ye know, to thank ye for this.” He pointed in the general direction of his face.

“There’s no need to, really.” She hurriedly said, muddled. “I’m just doing my job.” Jamie walked closer to her and grabbed her arm, kissing the back of her hand. It was an old-fashioned gesture – but strangely erotic, with the feel of his small stubble and his hot breath against her sensitive skin.

“I’d like to see ye again, Claire.” Jamie said softly.

“I…that seems…if you’re sure…” She babbled. Noticing his tender smile, slightly mischievous - noticing her increasing embarrassment - she snuffled. “Yes. I think we can do that. I happen to quite like popcorn.”

“Tomorrow, then?” He grabbed his coat and waited for her answer, hope shining in his bright blue eyes.

“Tomorrow sounds lovely.” And she offered him a radiant smile.


	2. Forget Me Not

**Chapter 2 – _Forget me not_**

**_Broch Mordha, 15 years ago_ **

Hearing a soft knock, Claire opened the door of the small cottage that was her temporary residence in the village, property of the clinic - kindly lent to her for the duration of her internship.

“You look very smart, Jamie.” She smiled, noticing his impeccably ironed blue shirt, which made the colour of his eyes even more striking. He had tried to tame the cowlicks and waves of his hair and was perfectly shaven – the grooming being slightly impaired by the giant bruise on his cheek, extending like an oil leak to his lower eyelid, and the redness and swelling on his lip – as if he had been bitten and forcefully kissed. “Even if you slightly resemble an oversized Dalmatian.”

He shrugged and smirked.

“Ye look lovely, Sassenach.” His eyes quickly travelled across the span of her body, clad in a long floral dress, the lightness of the fabric enhancing her curves. Jamie blushed a little, realizing she had noticed his overt attentions, but defiantly met her eyes. “I brought ye a wee gift – I’ll still get ye some popcorn, though.”

With the suspense and skill of a magician, Jamie produced a small vase in which a couple of small blue flowers nestled together.

“They are _Myosotis_ , aren’t they?” Claire exclaimed, delighted, taking the delicate vase on her hands. “I’ve never seen them quite so blue. Where did you get these?”

“From my home’s garden – Lallybroch, that is. I did the plant seedlings myself.” He seemed content with her reaction and somewhat proud. “I thought ye’d like something that ye could keep and watch growing day by day, more than a bouquet that would dwindle and waste away.”

“Well, you were right.” She inhaled the sweet and lively scent, the unique perfume of nature’s creation. “They have another name, don’t they? I think I recall Uncle Lamb calling them something else.”

“Aye.” Jamie’s cat-like eyes smiled in time with his lips, his voice husky. “Forget-me-nots.”

“Were you afraid that I’d forget you, Jamie?” Claire asked softly, placing her precious gift on the kitchen table and grabbing her purse to leave with him.

“I ken I’d have a hard time forgetting ye, Sassenach.” He gave her a lopsided smile and the tip of his fingertips brushed against her hand, a caress so heartbreakingly gentle that her heart fluttered like a trapped moth against an unshielded light. “But it couldna hurt to make sure, aye?”

****

“Are you watching the movie at all?” Claire asked, biting a crunchy popcorn, saltiness and sweetness flooding the back of her tongue. She had been following the intricate plot of the movie, an acclaimed musical candidate to win several coveted awards – they were about to enter the part where the star crossed lovers realized that their love could never be – but the feeling of being observed had made her look through the corner of her eye, only to realize Jamie had been absorbed in contemplating her instead of the screen.

“Aye.” He grinned in the half light, his eyes never leaving the outline of her face. “The lad doesna sing sae bad, but he isn’t much of a writer. It will end badly for them both.”

Claire raised her brows, impressed by his accurate remarks. Nonetheless, being so closely inspected was making her uncomfortable and very self-aware.

“Is there something weird on my face?” She asked tentatively. Jamie leaned closer to her, his blue eyes intent.

“I was wondering how ye’d look with yer hair down.” He whispered softly, close to her ear. Claire had decided to trap her wild curls on an elegant braid for their date – and having met her at the clinic, when she was wearing her working bun, he hadn’t yet seen her with her hair loose. 

“You can thank your guardian angel that you haven’t seen me that way.” She snorted. The small and cosy cinema room was almost empty, but a couple of young girls threw them looks of reproach for disturbing the gut-wrenching atmosphere. “It might just attack you when you’re not looking.” She finished in a lower voice.

“Hm.” He casually reached for a handful of popcorn, only to allow his hand to get closer to hers. “Ye are so different from all the lassies I knew all my life, Claire.”

“Uppity?” She suggested with apprehension. His fingers were making circular movements on the back of her hand, until they eventually entwined, like scattered pieces of a forgotten puzzle coming together. “Strange?”

“Strong.” He said, his face serious. His eyes fixed on her lips and she couldn’t avoid to subtly lick them, the mere suggestion of his touch enough to make her thirsty. “Beautiful.”

“You don’t know that much about me yet.” Claire whispered. The smell of him, so close, was inebriating in the darkness, like all her senses were sharper, more in tune with him. “You could be wrong.”

“I may not know yer birthday or yer favourite drink. Which books made ye cry and what position ye sleep in – but I already know that I would do almost anything to have the chance to find out.” Their foreheads were almost touching, as he came even closer to her. “I already ken how ye make _me_ feel, Sassenach.”

Their lips met – not needing any type of compass in the darkness - the soundtrack of the love story on screen playing just for them. And as Jamie’s hands found her curls, untangling her hair until it fell over her shoulders, they could be the only two people in love in the entire universe.

 ****

**_Edinburgh, Present day_ **

_Don’t cry. Breathe._

Claire mechanically reached for his hand and started to unfold the bandages in silence. Jamie winced and hunched his shoulders, as if he was surprised – and his eyes were filled with true wonder.

“Ye are real.” He whispered, his eyes following the steady and calculated movements of her gloved hands. “I…wasn’t sure that ye were.”

“How are you feeling, Mister Fraser?” She asked in a monotonous tone, like a cold but professional stewardess on a long and tiresome flight. His eyes widened, the lines of his face a mirror of pain, as if she had just slapped him without further warning.

“When did I become _Mister Fraser_?” He said between teeth. “How long have ye been working here, Sassenach?”

“Don’t call me that!” She demanded in a strong voice, exhaling. “Not that I owe you any explanations, but I’ve been a surgeon here for almost three months now.” Claire said. “Can you wiggle your fingers for me?”

“Claire…” He began, his blue eyes imploring. “There are things I should tell ye…”

“No.” She replied, firmly. “You are a patient here and I’m bound by my oath to treat you to the best of my abilities. But we have nothing to say to each other – apart from you answering my questions and I informing you with truthfulness about your condition.” Anger filled her chest, like something sticky and dark, making her breathing more laboured.

“I can’t move them just now.” He said, after a while, in a hoarse voice. The removing of the dressings revealed the terrible sight of a compromised hand – only his thumb seemed unaffected, while his middle and ring fingers were crushed into unnatural positions, the joints shattered. His index finger was broken in at least two places, even if it still maintained an air of normalcy by comparison. Blood still oozed from deep cuts on his palm and from the place where the bone had ruptured the skin, like a gruesome and bloody flower springing from the inside out. “Can ye save it?”

“I’ll certainly try.” She nodded, the lump in her throat approaching the size of an ostrich egg. Even the best surgeon in the world wouldn’t be able to rebuild a perfect hand from such wreckage – the best possible outcome was to save all his fingers and to obtain a range of function that would allow him to carry ordinary movements with his hand. _His hand had been so tender in the darkness of the cinema._ “I need to assess your belly. Is it sore?”

“A wee bit.” Jamie admitted, avoiding her eyes as she pushed up his shirt, covered in soot and blood, in order to expose him to her cold hands. Claire touched his flank with light movements, going deeper in critical places – once she palpated his upper left quadrant he hissed like a resentful cat and his abdomen went rigid.

“You might have a ruptured spleen.” She bit her bottom lip, still glancing at his belly _. There, that small spot – she had bit him there, once. She could still hear his throaty groan_ , _half moaning half laughing._ “We will do an ultrasound, but it’s likely you’ll need surgery today.”

“Will ye do it?” He asked. Jamie was gritting his teeth – he was on basic painkillers and Claire was sure he was experiencing some excruciating pain from his damaged hand, acute abdomen and several first degree burns on his body.

“I’m not sure that is wise.” She said slowly. “I’ll ask Joe to do it – he is a very gifted surgeon.”

“Will you be there, Claire?” He pleaded in a low voice, hesitant.

“I will.” Claire hawked. “It’s my team – it’s my duty to oversee it.” He seemed discouraged and battered, looking at the white ceiling. 

“Are my men alright?” Jamie asked, while she began to clear some debris from the wound. “Are they safe?”

“They are being taken care of. You should focus on getting stronger now.” She replied more softly and then, raising her eyes to meet his – so he could see the emptiness there – added in a neutral tone. “Your hand is swelling. I’m sorry, but I’ll have to cut your wedding ring out.”


	3. As We Were

**Chapter 3 – _As We Were_**

**_Skye, 14 years and 11 months ago_ **

“Hush, Sassenach.” Jamie urged her, mischief in his eyes. “The fairies dinna care for loud people.”

“Really?” She smiled, amused. “They inhabit the wrong country, then. Scottish people aren’t _exactly_ the serene and quiet type. Any more useful tips for avoiding to displease the little creatures?”

“They don’t like whistling or crossed fingers.” Claire could hear the smile on his voice, even if he had his back turned to her, working his way up the rocky and muddy ground. “Or cursing.”

“Oh, fuck! I’m doomed!” Claire laughed, covering her mouth in self-reproach. “They don’t sound that much fun, if you ask me. Are we almost there?”

“Aye.” He answered and his voice was carried by the wind across the green hills, as if hidden crowds were there to repeat his words in a ghostly choir. “Are ye tired?”

“I know you are half mountain goat, but I might be persuaded to rest a little after this.” She admitted, almost breathless.

Jamie had prepared for them a weekend away from Broch Mordha, that so far had included climbing the Old Man of Storr – a strenuous ascend that left her feeling a sharp pain on her side, but well compensated by a magnificent view with a double rainbow to boot -; sightseeing in Staffin; and – as the hours of sunset quickly approached – a detour to the Fairy Glen. They were in the middle of the climb to the Fairy Castle and Claire was forced to divide her attentions between the marvellous sight – the sky painted by a talented hand in purple, pink and blue – and the attention necessary to avoid falling and breaking a leg.

They had been dating for a month – the happiest days she recalled in her entire life. She was busy working during the days – but most nights they would get together. Jamie had a gift to make every occasion special – may it be a homely cooked dinner (even the slightly burned bits, when they were distracted by each other’s lips and forgot to time the oven, tasted like _haute cuisine_ ), a walk in the woods or swimming in the hidden lakes. He was funny and tender – and a true gentleman. Claire smiled, recalling the way he had made sure she was alright during the entire day, adjusting his pace by hers, stopping regularly to allegedly admire some plants or take a picture - only so she could rest a couple of minutes without feeling weak.

As they came closer to the structure resembling a miniature castle, a narrow passage made of slippery stones stood between the hill and the opening – as if the fairy queen had lowered the bridge to welcome them to her realm, should they be brave enough to attempt the crossing.

“Alright.” Claire murmured between her teeth. “Am I really supposed to do this without cursing?”

Jamie looked back and held out his hand in support, grinning to her. Together they made the daunting crossing, being rewarded with an exquisite view once they reached the top.

“It is breath-taking, isn’t it?” Claire gasped, still holding Jamie’s hand, their fingers entwined.

“Aye.” He answered in a hoarse voice – but his blazing eyes were focused on her face and not on the hills bellow them. “It is.” His mouth enveloped hers then, his tongue tasting the playful words she had been about to say – passionate, knowing and sure.

Later that day, tired from the day’s exertions and cradled by the moving car, feeling secure and at peace with Jamie driving – tunelessly humming along with the song on the radio - Claire allowed herself to close her eyes until she reached that peculiar state – brushing her bodiless fingertips on the edge of oblivion, dreaming knowing she was dreaming, unconsciousness still subtly penetrated by the sounds around her.

“I love you, _mo nighean donn_ ”. Jamie whispered softly, thinking her asleep – and her arriving dreams knew the undeniable truth of his words.

**_Edinburgh, Present day_ **

Jamie had been moved to a room while he waited for an OR vacancy. The A&E staff was still working untiringly to try to save as many critical patients as possible, victims of collapsing beams and smoke inhalation, and Jamie’s condition – in spite of painful – was stable enough for the time being, allowing him to wait a few more hours. Claire had supervised his transfer, making sure his vitals were tightly monitored. 

“Will ye stay with me?” He asked slowly, when the orderly and nurse left them alone. “I’ve never had surgery – I’m a wee bit scared, I’ll admit to it.”

“There was a time when you had the right to ask me that.” Claire answered haltingly, avoiding his gaze as she pretended to examine the collector bag. “But you don’t – not anymore. You lost it a long time ago.”

“I ken I’ve done ye wrong, Claire.” Jamie licked his chapped lips. “But everything I did was…”

“Don’t you dare say it!” Claire almost shouted, her fists closing until she felt her nails digging into her palms – pain was reassuringly present, a life raft she could hold on to. “Don’t you fucking dare say it! You broke my heart, James Fraser. You made me love you and then you broke me.”

“Do ye hate me for it?” He closed his eyes and asked softly, pain choking his voice. “It’s well within yer right to do so – and still, you could never hate me as much as I hate myself.”

“I’d hate you if I was to feel anything at all.” Claire’s hands remained still on each side of her body, like forgotten parts of her that she used to cherish, now ripped away from her grasp. “But I don’t. At last I’m numb – at last you can’t hurt me anymore.”

_Liar_. _He can still hurt you – just be being here, looking at you like he once did. Saying words that used to meant other worlds, other lives. As we were._

“I just wish to know that ye are well.” Jamie turned his head and glared at her – there was sadness in his eyes, but also resolve. “That you are happy.”

“And do you want to know that for _my_ sake?” She laughed – a brief and acid sound, which sounded like a wail from a shrinking heart. “Or so you can be at peace with your conscience?”

“I want to know…” Jamie swallowed hard, his face shockingly white against the linen of the bed. “Because I promised to make ye joyous once. I vowed to fill yer life with laughter – and it would ease my heart to know you happy, even without me having a part in it.”

_Sometimes in the morning, before I’m completely awake, I forget that you aren’t there. I erase years without you – and for that small moment, I know what happiness is._

“I’m happy.” Claire croaked – even if her face hurt from straining, the salty taste of tears filled the back of her mouth and her voice was a distant echo of elation. “I moved on. Unlike you, I keep me promises, Jamie.”

****

Claire sat in inviting obscurity. The darkness in the small room was only hampered by the constant red and yellow lights of machines, gently assuring her that his heart kept its usual rhythm - a foreign concept to her, whose heart skipped and fluttered madly, propelled by memories and distant words.

Jamie was profoundly asleep, a saving grave provided by the morphine drip – each droplet a fountain of dreamless sleep, so much so she craved to drink down the whole vial and travel to a faraway land, where promised were held and kisses lasted forever.

She had stormed out of the room after their brutal conversation, pretending not to hear him calling her name. Claire’s steps had guided her to the on-call room, nodding to people passing by, her lips wording words of reassurance that she didn’t mean at all. Once there, she had grabbed the pillow and had screamed against it with abandon, muffling years of anguish and solitude – but most of all releasing the despair of knowing herself still an unwilling prisoner of her heart.

When she had composed herself, Claire made her rounds and settled the orders for the day, even pulling herself together enough to issue a statement to the media about the injured in the residential fire. But late in the afternoon, when chaos had given place to a more usual pace of a healthy hospital, the pull had been irresistible – and she had found herself at his door again.

“Where have you been hiding, LJ?” Joe startled her, his head peeking on the door. “Why am I suddenly assigned for a splenectomy? Not that I don’t appreciate it, but it’s _your_ patient and I can barely feel my feet already.”

“I can’t do this surgery, Joe.” Claire said, watching as he fully entered the room. “It has to be you.” Her friend raised his eyebrows in surprise and confusion, padding to the bed until he could read the chart, dangling from the frame.

“James Fraser.” He articulated slowly and she watched, half amused, as his mouth dropped open in bewilderment. " _The_ James? _Jamie_?”

“The man himself.” She nodded, curling her legs beneath her on the armchair. “In all his redheaded glory.”

“Oh my! It really is a small country.” Joe shook his head and offered her a concerned look. “I had no idea when I offered him to you – I hope you know that.”

“I do.” Claire sighed. “I thought this could happen when we came from Boston – even told myself I was ready. I was _so_ wrong, Joe – seeing him just….disassembled me. I was so _angry_ – still am.”

“You are angry…” Joe slowly said. “And _yet_ you are sitting here in the shades watching over him. And you want _me_ to do his surgery when any resident could have easily done it.”

“You are the best.” She smiled with sadness, brushing her hand against her eyes. “I can’t be inside that OR, Joe. I can’t be a doctor for him – it’s not that I couldn’t see you cut him. But if something goes wrong…” Claire gulped, softly biting the knuckle of her finger in thoughtfulness. “I can’t think clearly. My place is in the waiting room because I can’t be a doctor for him right now – not when I’m too busy being a woman.”

“I was there, Lady Jane.” He moved closer to her and softly touched her shoulder. “I know what it did to you. How hard you had to fight to pull yourself together. If you were any other woman, you’d be running the other way the instant you saw him. And yet, here you are.”

“Yes.” She whispered, watching Jamie’s lips slightly quivering in his sleep. “Here I am.”

“And what does it mean, darling?” Joe pressed on with tenderness.

“Jamie lied when he told me it was meant to last forever.” She looked at him, defeat in her eyes. “But I didn’t.”


	4. They All Come Rushing Back

**Chapter 4 – They All Come Rushing Back**

**_Broch Mordha, 14 years and 9 months ago_ **

“Are ye ill, _mo ghraidh_?” Jamie asked, his brow furrowing in concern. They were in her small cottage, eating bowls of fragrant pasta that Jamie had cooked for them. “Ye are verra quiet this evening.”

“No.” She gave him a weak smile and drank profusely from her glass of water. “I’m alright.”

“Something amiss, then?” He insisted, searching her eyes with his as to force her to make eye contact with him. “I can see something is troubling ye.”

“Fine. Just tired.” Claire replied shortly, playing with small bits of garlic with her fork. “Long day in the clinic.”

“No, ye’re not.” Jamie said and she noticed the tension on his face. “I’ve seen you tired to the point of falling asleep on your feet during that gastroenteritis outbreak last month – and ye were never like this.” He touched her hand and winced as she slowly retreated from his grasp. “I’ll respect your desire of not telling me – but please, dinna pretend everything is _fine_.”

Claire exhaled and slowly raised her eyes, meeting his – anger, sadness and confusion shone in her whiskey coloured iris.

“If you want to know,” She said with some asperity. “Laoghaire came to see me today. She had plenty to tell me.”

“Och, aye?” Jamie nodded, expectant. “What did she tell ye, then?”

“That you have been fooling me since we met.” Claire said in a hoarse voice, clenching her hands together near her plate. “That our relationship is nothing but a dalliance to you – something to entertain you during the summer, until I go back to Edinburgh and you take up with her - again.”

Jamie’s mouth was slightly ajar, as the small blue vein on his temple throbbed furiously.

“The lass must have lost her wits!” He grumbled, pushing away his own food, having obviously lost his usually insatiable appetite. “I knew she was a little soft for me – for helping her with the brute that is her father, I guess – but this is ridiculous!”

“Is it, Jamie?” Claire blatantly looked away. “Can you honestly say she means nothing to you – and that I’m not just…a _distraction_ in a boring summer in the village?”

“How can ye even ask me that?!” Jamie roared, his fists closing. His blue eyes were blazing and his entire body pulsed with rage. “Are you suggesting I’m playing you false?”

“You didn’t answer the question, Jamie.” Claire hissed, her cheeks blushing with fury and her curls curling madly around her face. “Avoiding simple questions usually means there is something to hide.”

“Must I tell you with words what I have been answering you with actions from the day we met?” He clenched his teeth. “Must I tell you that – no! – I haven’t been fuckin’ Laoghaire behind yer back?”

“She knew an awful lot about you.” Claire raised from the table and started to throw dishes into the sink. “She knew you have a small scar on the inside of your thigh – I’ve barely seen it myself, only noticed it when we went to the lake.”

“Probably the exact same reason why she knows it too.” Jamie rubbed his knuckles against his forehead in despair. “Not because she has been in my bed!”

“Laoghaire loves you, you know.” Claire clashed her hands against the kitchen counter, speaking in a broken tone – hurt and afraid. “She has known you all your life. She is the type of girl everyone here expected you to marry – I’m aware of what they say about me. Foreign. _Outlander_.”

“Stop this madness, Claire!” Jamie almost yelled, coming to stand next to her. She could feel the urge that moved him, the intensity of his eyes fixing her. “I love you, _mo nighean donn_. Your words of distrust wound me more than your wee scalpel could. Do ye not know that I have but one heart – and ye are the sole master of it?”  

“I can’t bear the thought of you touching her!” Claire shouted, her hands grabbing her own hair. “I can’t bear the way she said your name in front of me! If you must leave me – do it now. Before there’s not enough of me to live when you’re gone.”

Jamie was breathing fast and came to stand behind her – his palms next to her waist, but not quite touching her.

“You’re killing me, Claire.” He almost sobbed in a husky voice. “You are the breath of me, the spark of my body. Away from you I have no air – no heart, no life. Maybe there was a time when I could be with Laoghaire…” He bent his head and pressed his forehead in the hollow between her shoulder blades. “But now there is no turning back. Ye have marked me and made me yours, _mo chridhe_. And I shall remain so for the rest of my days, whether when I’m inside ye, in the brink of touching ye or a thousand miles away.”

“Jamie…” Claire whispered, her body relaxing against his. “I’m scared. I’ve never been so happy in my life – and so afraid.”

“Tell me.” He pulled her closer, gluing their bodies together. “Tell me all your heart – as I’ve told you my soul.”

“I want you so much.” She turned inside his arms and hugged him by the waist, their lips almost touching. “Will you have me?”

She could feel his heart beating under the palm of her hand, rushing – not from anger any longer, but from anticipation. From tenderness. From desire.

“Are you sure?” He kissed her palm and then her temple. As an answer, her hands came up to take off her blouse.

Their lovemaking was slow and tactful – after being so honest with each other, they felt vulnerable and exposed. Sometimes one of them would be a little rough, just enough to seal their claim on each other – just enough to find that ultimate redoubt where they have been hiding. It was not a battle for dominion or possession – they had established their peaceful surrender to each other – but a fight to merge together until no doubt could be raised, ever again.

“Will you come with me to Edinburgh?” Claire asked in the darkest hours of the night, when they laid together, sated and tranquil. “I know it’s too much to ask.” She was caressing the soft hairs of his stomach, a roadmap to the secrets ahead.

Jamie moved slowly, reaching for his jeans that laid forgotten on the floor. From his back pocket he withdrew an envelope, which he presented to Claire.

“What is this?” She nuzzled his hand.

“My request for a transfer from Glasgow University to Edinburgh’s.” Jamie’s eyes were intent and limpid. “I shall be where you are, Claire. I canna leave you.”

They kissed, passionate and hungry, their tongues seeking each other to celebrate their pact. And when Claire finally laid her head on his chest, slept lulled by his heart calling only for her.

****

**_Edinburgh, Present day_ **

At the sight of Joe walking out of the sliding doors that led to the OR area, crumpling his blue surgical cap on his hands, Claire jumped from the chair where she had been sitting for the last couple of hours. 

“How did it go?” She asked impatiently, searching his eyes for tell-tale signs of an unfavourable outcome, and slightly relaxing when she saw the good-humoured wrinkles around his golden brown eyes.

“It went smoothly, LJ.” Joe smiled. “Your man is strong as a bull. He’ll pull through, I’m sure. The orthopaedics team is still in there working on his hand.”

“He is not _my_ man.” Claire grumbled as she awkwardly hugged Joe, silently thanking him for taking care of Jamie. Joe was a trusted friend and had been an irreplaceable support over the last few years - his agreement to accompany her to Edinburgh and to integrate her team had been decisive in her acceptance of the proposal to return to Scotland. “I should be there when he wakes up from the anaesthesia.”

Joe offered her a knowing look, with a hint of reproach.

“You should take care of _yourself_ , doll.” He shook his head and raised his sketchy eyebrows. “Go home and take a shower. Clear your head away from here - and think exactly what the hell are you going to say to him afterwards. Not that I wouldn’t agree with you punching him, but that spleen was hard work.”

“We have said plenty already, Joe.” She sighed. “I’m not expecting – not sure I even want to – anything to happen. We will fix him and send him back to the life _he_ chose.”

“For a man that broke your heart,” He brushed her jaw in a tender gesture. “He cares an awful lot about you too. Kept asking about your life right until he dozed off from the drugs. Seemed afraid that you had someone… _special_.”

“The bloody gall of the man!” Claire growled, outraged. “I could be shagging the entire Scotland Rugby Team and he still wouldn’t have any right to say a word about it!”

“The _entire_ team?” Joe snorted. “You are one lively brod LJ, but not sure even _you_ could handle it – besides, you’d never see the inside of an OR. Not really time to do anything else.”

“Oh, shut up!” Claire jokingly pushed him with her elbow. “You are missing my point.”

“No.” He stopped and grabbed her by the shoulders, suddenly serious. “You are missing _mine_. You are my friend, LJ. A lovely woman – only second to Gail - and one hell of a surgeon. But I still remember you from when we met, those odd years ago – how you smiled so often and how joy seemed to follow you everywhere you’d go. If you have the chance…can you do something to find that girl again?”

****

The closet door in her bedroom hung open like the entry to a mysterious cave, where jumpers and jeans plotted together in her absence. For the first time in a long time she felt the pull of it – the box religiously kept behind her rarely used summer hats and beach towels, ever present yet distant from her everyday thoughts.

With her hair still dripping from the shower, she walked to the shelf and stood there, breathing deeply, trying to gather her courage – she could still recall its contents with her mind’s eye, as clearly as the day she had put them there to rest. Biting her lip in reluctant decision, she stood on tiptoe to get the box down and sat on the floor with her legs crossed.

Once she took the lid off, the smell of old paper and dried flowers floated to her nostrils, as if she had managed to successfully bottle the aroma of her happy days. _God_ , sometimes she could almost doubt she had been so happy – if not for the undeniable photographs of them together, smiles that reached their eyes and joined hands; if not for the nagging pain that lived in the back of her mind, ever-present, all-consuming.

Inside the box were plenty of photographs – the older ones from their first summer together in Broch Mordha, Lallybroch and the Highlands. Pictures of them together laughing, eating pizza snuggled on the couch, kissing in bed. Images of her, which he had captured when she was unaware, smiling above her shoulder to him or peacefully asleep on the curve of his arm. A couple of Jamie, standing by the lake with his hair moist and a huge grin on his beautiful lips.  A succession of small sized instant photos of them together in a shady photo booth in Edinburgh on their anniversary, her sitting on his lap, complete with an array of hilarious faces. There were letters there too – Claire saw Jamie’s crocked handwriting and her old stationery. No point in reading them, though – she knew each one by heart, the written words imprinted in some secret part of her that never agreed to let him go.

And finally she saw it – amongst all those broken pieces that fitted together to create a perfect image of them - what she had been looking for all along. A sob caught in her throat as she reached inside and closed her fist around it – and for the first time in almost ten years, Claire held her wedding ring on the palm of her hand.


	5. Boston Calling

**Chapter 5 – Boston Calling**

**_Edinburgh, 12 years ago_ **

Claire absentmindedly twisted her silver wedding ring on her finger, listening as Jamie rummaged in the adjacent bathroom, preparing for bed. The sounds he made – whistling as he shaved, cursing in _Gaelic_ as he cut himself with the razor or tunelessly singing in the shower – were her favourite playlist in her life’s soundtrack.

He came out and turned off the lights, immersing their room in shadows, as the wind howled outside. Pulling up the sheets to slide in next to her, she yelped as his cold hands grabbed her buttocks with purpose.

“Hmm.” Jamie growled. “Ye’re so plump and warm, Sassenach. Can’t think of a better way to warm myself.”

“My ass is freezing, but you’re welcome.” She complained, but scooted closer to him nonetheless. Claire enjoyed the feel of his hands, brushing her arms and waist, tracing her outline from shoulder to hip, melting against him as she had so many times before. She bit her lip, trying to regain focus and not to surrender completely to the sensation altogether. “I received a letter today.”

“A secret admirer, lass?” Jamie said jokingly, but she heard the hint of jealousy in his lilt. She was very popular amongst the young doctors - and even some professors treated her with unwanted gentleness and looks filled with longing directed to her bosom. Jamie always managed to rein in the urge to kill them all in gruesome ways, leaving her with the task of subtly display her wedding ring and casually mention her husband’s menacing height.

“Not quite.” She softly said and rolled to face him. “Before we met I applied to a scholarship in Harvard – they have a fantastic program and…Well, I really didn’t have anything to root me here.” Claire shrugged. “As so much time passed without an answer, I forgot I even sent them my application.”

 “And ye got an answer today?” He brushed her curls, caressing her face.

“I did.” She swallowed hard. “Apparently my papers were lost – placed in the wrong archive. They found them a few days ago.” Claire looked into his eyes. “And they want me, Jamie. They are offering me a full scholarship to graduate there. There was a note with the letter – from Doctor Raymond. He directs the surgical program at Mass Gen and he is offering me a spot there to learn under him.”

“Doctor Raymond.” Jamie massaged her hand, furrowing his brows in concentration. “The wee doctor whose articles ye keep reading even while we eat? The one ye once called _“A legend disguised as a toad”_?”

“Yes.” She smiled. “That’s the one.”

They stayed in silence for a while, contemplating the ramifications of such mind-altering news.

“ _A Dhia_! That is amazing, Sassenach!” Jamie smiled at last, kissing her deeply. “I’m verra proud of ye. I always knew ye were extraordinary and I’m so glad others are coming to the same conclusion. When will ye go?”

“What do you mean?” Claire asked, confused. “I can’t go! It’s on the other side of the bloody planet!”

“I ken that.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I have my geography up to date, Sassenach. But ye have to go – it’s your dream we’re talking about, your career. If they really are the best, ye must learn from them - the chance being offered so prettily.”

“But this means _years_ there, Jamie!” She insisted, agitated. “To change our lives so profoundly they will barely look the same!”

“The most important things will remain the same, _mo nighean donn_.” Jamie said in a soft tone. “I will still love ye with all my heart. I will still be proud of you to the point of bursting with it.”

“But Jamie…” Claire said in a husky voice, fighting back the sudden threat of tears. “You can’t come. And I _won’t_ leave you!”

“Aye.” Jamie agreed, his eyes downcast. “I canna come.”

One year before Brian Fraser had been walking on his state, overseeing the harvest intended to the malting of whiskey, when a shattering headache had overcame him. His workers had found him on the ground, barely breathing, his left side paralyzed and his speech incomprehensible. Victim of a massive stroke, he had managed to survive by sheer Fraser stubbornness – but in spite of vigorous physical therapy and all around the clock care, he would never regain full function of his hand and leg. Jenny had been forced to assume the bulk of the Fraser business, but Jamie went to Lallybroch every week to assist his father and help his sister – spending himself on tiresome journeys and constant heartbreak. It was impossible for him to leave the country for a long period, and they were both painfully aware of that realization.

“I will write them explaining it is impossible for me to go.” Claire insisted, entwining their fingers, their wedding rings touching as chains of an unbreakable bond. “I can become a surgeon just as easily here.”

“You canna do that, Claire.” Jamie said vehemently. “I canna live with myself knowing I hindered ye. That our marriage was an obstacle for ye to move forward – I can’t and I _won’t_. We have our entire lives to be together – we can manage to survive a few years of distance. Besides, I’ll come to visit ye as often as I can manage.”

“I can’t, Jamie…” Claire pleaded, entangling her fingers on his auburn hair, already dreading the moment she wouldn’t be able to touch him – to roll in bed in the middle of the night and find him waiting for her. To hear his voice coming up the stars, joyful with the prospect of kissing her once he opened the door. To smell him on her skin as an invisible cloak he had offered her to wear.

“You can and you _will_.” His thumbs traced under her eyes, as if predicting the need to wipe out tears, still to come. “For I love ye, Sassenach. Nothing will ever change that.”

A grief strong as lightening was already ravaging her body, searing her chest and belly, turning iron into steel for the armour she would wear in his absence.

“Alright.” She accepted, closing her eyes – but still seeing him clearly, gazing at her with love and confidence. “I’ll go.”

He kissed her with fervour, pulling her against his body to remind her that their farewell was still impending, that their touches could still be carved in more than memories. 

“We should stop trying, then.” Jamie whispered softly, rubbing her flat stomach – the box of wonders where they had been hoping to create their own shared miracle. “We’ll think about it again in a couple of years.”

“Does that mean you won’t make love to me anymore?” Claire asked in a fearful tone. “Because I won’t have that, Mister Fraser.”

“Nah.” Jamie smiled with mischief and rolled to place her atop of him. “Just that I will love ye more _safely_.”

****

**_Boston, 11 years ago_ **

“I can’t take it anymore, Jamie.” Claire declared to her phone. “I can’t concentrate on anything. I miss you too much.”

“I miss ye too, _mo ghraidh_.” He sighed. “I’ll be there in a couple of weeks – I can’t stay more than a few days though. Jenny is huge like a ripe watermelon and she can go into labour soon – I must be here to see to Da when she goes to the hospital.”

“Send her and Ian my solidarity – or don’t, she might bite your head off.” Claire laughed and then turned on her side, watching the snowflakes twirling and dancing through her Boston window – she could pretend she was in Scotland, talking to him while he was on another room of their house. “I might just go back with you. This is going nowhere – I’m so behind everyone else. I’m _failing_ , Jamie. Miserably. If I keep this up I’ll be invited out of the program.”

“Ye canna be serious, Claire.” Jamie admonished. “I’m sure ye’re exaggerating.”

“No – I’m not!” She closed her eyes, shielding her eyelids with her palm. “Doctor Raymond called me to his office yesterday – he told me forthright he was very disappointed in me. _“Waisted potential”_ – I believe is what he said.”

General surgery is a hard and demanding residency on a good day – an inferno of sleepless hours, endless techniques and competing colleagues on a mild one. A desperation pit where all hope goes to die on a bad one. Claire had started hopeful and energetic, trying her hardest to be the first to arrive for rounds; reading ahead for every surgery in order to know the answer to every possible question; prescinding of her scarce hours of sleep for the chance of doing one more minor procedure.

But as time went by, Jamie’s absence became an unsurpassable obstacle – the miles separating them a looming shadow, that consumed everything else delicately touched by any light form. Claire started having sleeping problems – which made her unfocused and sometimes late for rounds, arriving just in time to hear a reprimand from her superior. She would ignore what was being said while she texted Jamie, being caught off guard by their questions. She became increasingly more unhappy and sloppy – which had culminated on her neglecting to prescribe the right antibiotic for a patient with known allergies, resulting in an almost fatal anaphylactic shock.

 Jamie stayed silent on the line for a moment – she could hear him breathing deeply on the other side. Eventually, he talked again – his voice husky.

“Everything will be as it should, Claire. I’ll take care of it – I promise.”

****

**_Boston, 10 years and 9 months ago_ **

Claire smiled as she poured water on her vase – the _Forget-Me-Nots_ starting to bloom in a promising array of blue. Jamie had surprised her by bringing the plant with him when he came to visit – it had been peacefully living on their room’s balcony in Edinburgh since they moved there.

Her eyes drifted to the place near the door where they had parted. Jamie already had his travelling bag next to the door, ready to take the cab to the airport. She had located her purse to accompany him and smiled to him in an expectant way, when he had grabbed her by the waist and pressed her against the wall.

“Once more.” He growled against her ear, his hands feverishly displacing her clothes before they locked themselves on her hips. “I must.”

He had entered her like a storm, powerful and devastating, raining on her senses as he thundered on her body, a passion so violent it bordered on despair. All the time his body rocked against her, his forehead was nestled on her neck – he spoke in _Gaelic_ , broken sounds that he repeated like a prayer, as he worshiped her with abandon. When he lost himself to her, moistness bathed her shoulder - tears and sweat like christening presents, offered to protect her against the demons of separation.

The sudden ringing of the phone jumped her, ripping her out of the trance of memories.

“Hey, you.” Claire saluted, knowing it must be Jamie calling. “Not a word for the last couple of days – I was beginning to think you had found yourself a new wife.”

“Claire.” He sounded detached and cold. “I…Needed some time to think.”

“About what?” She said, surprised. Her knowing heart was already racing, preparing her body for an impact she hadn’t predicted. “You’re scaring me, Jamie.”

He stayed silent – like he was reuniting every shred of courage left – and then talked again, sounding supernaturally calm.

“This isn’t working, Claire. I think we should end it.”

“What?” She croaked, her lips numb, as if kissed by unforgiving black death. “You can’t be serious. Is this your idea of a joke, Jamie?”

“No.” He said with assertiveness. “We should separate.”

“But what happened?” She raised and started to walk around her room, everything spiralling around her in a descent to nothingness. “How can you say something like this?”

“Ye were right.” He said in a laconic tone. “It’s too hard. I thought I could – but I can’t. This isna a marriage, Claire. It’s best if we’re both freed from it.”

“I can come back!” She sobbed, rubbing her face – the metal of her ring taunting her like a distant laugh. "I’ll go to Scotland and we can make things right again.”

“No!” He answered, almost angry. “ _Seas_. Don’t come back.”

“What are you saying?” Claire pleaded, her voice no more than a rasp.

“I don’t want ye anymore.” He whispered. “It’s over. I…I want to be with someone else.”

“Jamie…” She cried, sliding to the floor where she curled. “Jamie…”

“I am sorry.” Jamie said and the phone call ended.

_I am sorry. I am sorry. I am sorry._

Somewhere, something was breaking. Maybe it was the heart they had built together which she carried inside her chest – maybe the entire world was crashing down, through the vortex opened by the death of their shared star. Maybe all the stars were actually falling from the sky, as the ultimate shower of unfulfilled desires, until nothing remained but meaningless darkness, where she could find solace in the broken shards.

_I don’t want you anymore._

Or maybe it was the way her hands blindly searched for the vase - where flowers of ancient promises could never live again, to remind her of his betrayal – as she crushed it on the floor. 


	6. Sins of a Lover

**Chapter 6 – Sins of a Lover**

**_Boston, 10 years and 9 months ago_ **

Claire sat in the wide bench at the hospital’s locker room, her ears filled with a high bleeping sound, the voices around her as distant and foreign as creatures of the bottom of the deepest ocean. Her eyes were fixed on her silver ring – the flesh underneath it raw and reddened after hours of nervously twisting it on her finger, akin to a prisoner fighting a shackle turned life raft.    

“What happened to you?” A shadow extended next to her and she blankly stared above, watching as one of her colleagues, Joe Abernathy, frowned as he looked at her.

“Nothing.” She croaked, her tongue feeling ridiculously dry and furred after hours of screams and sobs in the seclusion of her apartment, followed by a prolonged silence.

“Hmpf.” He vocalized in a doubtful tone. “Ye look more like _everything_ happened, than nothing. Do you want to grab a cup of coffee, Fraser? Or a bucket?”

“Don’t call me that!” She hissed, tears stinging her eyes – Claire tried to keep them forcefully opened, to avoid overflowing. “Claire. Just Claire.”

“Alright.” He said more softly, sitting next to her. His dark skin deeply contrasted with her own, made even more marble white than usual by fatigue and heartbreak.

 Joe wasn’t exactly a friend – but he was one of the few colleagues who had shown her compassion and camaraderie, never taking a chance to shine that implied to throw another resident under the proverbial bus. He was always nice and they exchanged pleasantries every time the occasion called for words between them – but Claire had been too busy daydreaming about Jamie for the past few months, to really dedicate herself to the task of establishing a fulfilling friendship. _I don’t want you anymore._ Claire mechanically pressed the ring against her raw finger, welcoming the pain that kept her grounded to the present.

“You know what?” Joe slapped his big hands against his knees, covered with blue scrubs. “I think I have just the thing you need. A nasty Whipple procedure in OR two in twenty minutes. What do you say?”

“I can’t take your surgery, Joe. You earned that with your hard work assisting Doctor Raymond on that hemorrhoidectomy.” Claire shook her head, crumpling her surgical cap.

“You need to cut, Lady Jane.” He smiled with kindness. “People can say whatever they want, but I know a surgeon when I see one – and you’re it. Once you have the blade in your hand, you’ll be able to forget – or at least to push to the outskirts of your mind – whatever is bothering you so much. On the off-chance _that_ doesn’t work, you can always pretend you’re cutting the face of whoever hurt you.”

Claire breathed deeply – the smell of deodorant and foot powder a soothing presence, reassuring her that some things were still the same. She had come to the hospital almost in the middle of the night for it – trying to leave the wreckage of her life behind the closed door of her apartment - only to discover that the destruction had found a cranny whereby it could enter her body, taking hold of her like a parasite with an innocent host.

If only she could shed her entire body with its memories, like a blessed snake, perhaps she could morph into something else. Freedom. _Forgetfulness_. Painless breathing again. But she was only allowed blue scrubs, with matching cap and mask – they would have to serve that purpose.

“If you’re sure.” She said hesitantly. “I’ll try not to disturb you too much.”

“Nonsense.” He clapped, ecstatic. You’ll do just fine. Don’t overthink it.”

“Alright.” Claire raised from the bench to tie her black sneakers. _Make a loop. Tie it harder. Breathe._ As she prepared to walk beside him, she wrinkled her nose in confusion in his direction. “ _Who_ the hell is Lady Jane?”

****

**_Edinburgh, Present day_ **

“You’re awake.” Claire greeted, entering his room and seeing him half-sited, reclined against a pile of pillows, doing exercises with his hand. “It’s late, but I was quite busy today – a couple of patients from the fire needed to be re-interventioned for some complications.”

“That’s alright.” Jamie gave her a shy smile. “I dinna expect ye to come at all, so it’s a nice surprise.”

“I hear they are offering you a medal for your brave conduct while on duty.” She said in an attempt of conversational tone, sitting on a chair by his bed. “Just saw two grown men sobbing their eyes out while coming here, talking about how Chief Fraser is a goddam hero and saved their lives.”

“Well,” He replied, slightly shrugging his shoulders in a blatant sign of discomfort. “I don’t feel like a hero. More like a fool.”

“Hm.” She snorted in outspoken agreement. “Can’t really challenge that. How is your hand?”

“Rigid. Tender.” Jamie grimaced, showing her the bandaged hand with just the tip of the fingers visible. “But hopefully, in time, I’ll be able to wipe my own arse with it.”

The corners of her mouth almost formed a smile, but she hurriedly commanded them to stop. _Almost._ He used to make her smile all the time, effortlessly - and it seemed like the wheels and screws of her body still remembered that easy mechanism.

“Claire…” He started in a pleading tone.

“Why do you still wear your wedding ring, Jamie?” Claire anticipated in a low voice. “We have been divorced for almost ten years – and _you_ took away its meaning even before that.”

“Don’t ye know?” He replied in a soft tone, as his fingers dutifully played with the small exercise rubber ball.

“How would _I_ know?” She said, anger bringing an edge to her words. “ _You_ told me you didn’t want me anymore. That you had someone else you wanted to be with – I expected to find you remarried with a proper Scottish wife, a handful of children around your bed. And yet there’s no wife around to fluff your pillows and put jelly in the mouth of her valiant husband.”

He tilted his head, as if he was embarrassed by her words. “I had my reasons to say that.”

“Let’s hear them, then.” She crossed her arms and looked impatiently at him. “I believe you owe me at least the curtsy of the truth, Jamie.”

Jamie nodded and for a moment his eyes seemed lost in contemplation of something invisible, pages of their story turning backwards until he could find the appropriate chapter and the words to tell it. When he talked again, his voice was quick and low, slightly ragged.

“Ye were failing.” He looked at her as if urging her to understand. “Ye told me that yourself. Everything ye had worked so hard to accomplish was turning into smoke.” Jamie clenched his jaw. “I knew it was because of me – _my fault_. When ye met me, I changed the course of yer life. Ye were torn – distracted. I had to do something.”

“What?” Claire whispered, the world slightly tilting around her like a bizarre attraction in an amusement park. “Tell me, Jamie – What did you do?”

“How does a man wilfully rip his heart out of his chest? What madness can drive ye to do such a thing?” He whispered, as if to himself, before he glanced at her. “Not madness – _love_. I found I could do it, as long as I knew ye safe and well.”

“I don’t understand.” She babbled - but realization was slowly dawning on her, brutal and consuming as wildfire, leaving her shaking like a burnt leaf on the wind.

“I already knew what I needed to do.” Jamie nodded, immersed on his tale – finally able to share his terrible truth, a numbing dart to the poisonous beast that sat on his chest. “I made the decision the night we spoke on the phone – promised to myself I’d do it when I went to visit ye. But I couldn’t!” He closed his healthy hand on a fist, his body trembling from strong emotion. “I was weak. I couldna stop myself from loving ye again and again – knowing I couldna lie to yer body; swearing every time I touched ye would be the last. One last day of happiness – one last memory I could hold on to.”

Claire was openly crying by then, tears silently falling across her cheeks, witnesses of two broken hearts bleeding together into the world.

“I went to see Doctor Raymond one afternoon.” Jamie gulped. “I was hoping there might be another way. But he confirmed what I already knew – he told me ye were a natural healer, a potential brilliant surgeon, if ye were allowed to focus solely on that. He promised he would take care of you.” He finished softly.

“You told me you didn’t want me!” Claire repeated, lips quivering, her amber eyes open in shock.

“I thought I’d die from saying it. But ultimately I would say that and much worse, Claire.” He affirmed, his blue eyes moist but defiant. “I would deny God himself and Jesus on the cross for yer sake. I would disown my own heart and lungs. There’s no limit for what I’d do for ye to have peace _, mo nighean donn_.”

“It was not your choice to make!” She sobbed, slightly rocking herself on the chair. “ _My_ life, James Fraser. My fucking life. _Our_ life…”

“Aye.” He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “It is that. But I canna say I regret it, Claire. Joe told me how many people you saved just today – how every young surgeon looks up to you now. It seems to me I made the right choice.”

“You don’t know a thing…” Claire hissed. “About what I went through. I barely made it…I was barely sane.” Her voice sounded like a woman drowning even to her own ears. “You wouldn’t even see me to sign the divorce papers, you sent Ned Gowan in your place…”

“I never said I wasna a coward.” Jamie admitted, slightly tilting his head. “I dinna trust myself not to fall on my knees and beg yer forgiveness. To tell ye right there and then of my wicked ways. To kiss ye and never let go. I hoped…” His voice broke. “You’d never have to see me again.”

“I thought you were in love with someone else.” Claire sobbed, closing her eyes to block the sight of his face, grimacing in pain. “I couldn’t close my eyes without seeing you laying with a faceless woman, whom you’d say everything you once said to me. Listening all your promises turning into lies.”

“There was never another woman.” He whispered, tears falling down his lashes. “There could never be another woman, Claire. I still wore yer wedding ring because – papers or no – I will forever be married to _ye_. I will always love _ye_ , _mo ghraidh_.”

“I could never forgive you for this…” Claire entwined her hands, like a silent prayer for the ability to retrieve what had been lost between them. “You took away my choice. You traded our love for something I never wanted. You decided for us _both_.”

“Aye.” He swallowed hard – his voice hoarse and broken beyond repair. “But can ye honestly say I was wrong in thinking that this is the woman ye were meant to become? That by letting ye go I wasna in fact loving ye more than I ever could be keeping ye?” Jamie closed his eyes, whispering. “Mine are the sins of a lover. Ye were given to me, Claire – and I loved ye well.”


	7. Find Me

**Chapter 7 – Find Me**

**_Edinburgh, Present day_ **

Claire placidly munched her cereals – a bit soggy for her taste – as she inspected the cover of _The Scottish Sun_ , frowning in concentration. The evocative headline occupied almost half of the front page, with a photo illustrating their cover story – _“Murrayfield Hero ready to go home!”._ The image – certainly captured by one of the first reporters at the scene – showed Jamie wearing his full firefighter gear, walking out of what seemed like the dooryard from Hell, carrying one of his men – probably unconscious - on the shoulder. The article promised more details and juicy revelations on page four ( _“From Broch Mordha to Edinburgh’s hottest”),_ page five _(“Other legends on the Fire Department”_ ) and page six ( _“The heartbreaking testimonies of Fraser’s braveness”_ ).

“One would think that almost turning into crisped bacon was the fastest route to stardom.” She snorted to herself, taking a sip of rich and dark coffee. “I bet they are scavenging the Highlands for gossips about Edinburgh’s new sweetheart.”

The last couple of weeks had seen an increasing interest on Jamie’s persona by the media – the well-liked Station Officer with an irreprehensible career, respected both by men under him and by the ones in charge behind a desk; the lone wolf, by all reports divorced years ago, that refused all approaches from desirable women and seemed to wear an irremovable chastity belt; the loving son, who accompanied his crippled father until his death two years ago; the hunk,  spotted working out without his shirt on, delighting all women in the headquarters’ neighbourhood. 

Claire tried to avoid every conversation that contained even the slightest mention of Jamie – a considerable feat, since even the nurses continuously buzzed about how handsome and well-mannered he was.

After his shattering revelations – which had thrown Claire into a new spell of insomnia, which she used to get her charts up to speed – their conversations had consisted mainly of monosyllables and medical exchanges. She would check his drains; he would ask about a prevision to start physical therapy on his hand. She looked for signs of infection on his surgical wounds; he told her his pain was a four on a scale of one to ten. She compressed her lips, trying to avoid screaming at him; he said nothing, accepting her radioactive silence with the hopeless patience of a convict sentenced to imprisonment for the rest of his days.

Claire knew he was trying to give her time to process their conversation, before touching the subject again. His Fraser stubbornness, usually despairing, was serving him well in that instance.

Knowing his reasons had changed the starting point of their fallout – but not the outcome. He had tried to protect her and give her the life she was meant to live – and in that harrowing attempt, had failed to comprehend that, without him, every achievement felt void of its meaning. Jamie had used lies as a gift – and the unwrapping had broken both their hearts. Where once stood sadness and incomprehension, now rested anger and betrayal, pumping from her with every heartbeat, crushing her vessels with their intensity.

But the most unbearable pain, the one that kept her awake at night, was the undeniable desire to forget it all – to take him in her arms and cradle him against her repairing heart. To kiss him and feel him melting against her – to bite his lip and taste his blood, knowing it pulsed with her name. To hear him whisper his secrets and the truth in them.

“Bloody man.” She whispered, her fingers reluctantly caressing his picture. “What am I going to do with you?”

****

“Thank ye for taking me.” He repeated for what was probably the tenth time. “The lads were supposed to get me but they’re shorthanded as it is in the department.”

“No problem.” She replied shortly, driving through Edinburgh’s streets, immersed in the evanescent light of dusk. Claire had offered to take him home after his discharge from the hospital, using the employee entrance to avoid the questions and flashes of journalists. “At least this way I know you won’t do anything stupid with your hand, until you’re actually _inside_ the house.”

“Hm.” He snorted with mirth, looking at his still- bandaged hand. “I’m just glad I’ll be sleeping in my own bed, without anyone waking me to ask if my bowels moved already or spooked by the beeping sounds of the wee machines.”

“Which way now?” Claire asked, softly tapping the steering wheel with her fingers, as they achieved a deserted crossroad.

“Left.” Jamie gave her a renitent half-smile. “Ye’ll keen the way from here, I suppose.”

“Yes.” Claire breathed out, a tight knot forming inside her throat. “I believe I do.”

The building of their old apartment was visible down the street, looking exactly as she remembered it – the earthy tones of the façade vivid, that used to remind her of the soil of her flowers, fertile and homely. Propelled by the sight, memories came rushing back, as if they had been expecting to be summoned just in the corners of her conscience, brutal as needles in the back of her eyes.

“I received half of the money when the apartment was sold.” She blurted incredulous, blinking furiously in the half-light. “The man who bought it was someone named Angus MacKenzie.”

“He is a friend.” Jamie said softly. “He sold it back to me as soon as the deal was done.”

“Why would you want to live in this place?” Claire asked nervously, brushing back some of her curls, which had been falling over her face. “After everything that happened?”

“You were still here.” He whispered in a hoarse voice. “In a sense. The mattress of our bed had the shape of your body carved. There was the wee spot on the kitchen’s wall, were tomato sauce spilled, because we were too busy making love on the floor. The curtains ye chose, because ye never had such a house before, and a true home needed _proper_ curtains.” Jamie looked at her, his eyes soft. “This house is everything I had left of ye, Claire. I couldna leave it.”

“You should have burnt it.” Claire hissed, fighting back the surge of emotions that made her vulnerable to his words.

_I don’t want you anymore._

_I loved you well._

She parked the car in silence and helped him getting out, prescinding of the assertive tenderness she usually applied to every wounded creature. They slowly climbed up the stairs – the elevator being broken _again_ – until the third floor, the former residence of a happy newlywed couple.

Jamie opened the door with his keys – he still used the same keychain, Claire noticed, of a leaping stag shaped in silver. She had offered it to him, on their first Christmas together.

“I need to use the bathroom.” He smiled shyly. “I’ll be right back, aye?” And without waiting for her agreement, he rapidly strode out of her sight, as if to avoid that she used the opportunity to say her final goodbyes.

The living room was almost precisely the same – photographs taken more than ten years apart would only show small changes, like a different elegant cream-coloured rug and a new lamp by the corner. Everything else seemed to have been caught in the webs of time, as an insect amid flight trapped by a predatory spider.

Claire’s eyes travelled across the tomes on the bookcase – where some new volumes had been added to Jamie’s impressive collection, sleeping next to their photographs – and her eyes were attracted by a drawer’s open crack. Feeling ashamed, but somewhat entitled, she slid it open until the full compartment was exposed.

With her hands shaking, she grabbed the magazine on top of the pile – an old issue of _The American Journal of Medicine_. She recognized it instantly – she also had a copy of that same issue, stored in one of her boxes since the move. Abandoning any attempt at discretion, she surveyed the contents of the drawer.

Jamie seemed to have found every publication where her name came up – from obscure magazines where her name had been cited after another dozen; to the most reputed surgical journals, with her articles and findings front and centre. It must have been a constant and tiresome job, keeping up with her career, for someone not even in the medical field.

How many hours had he laid there, only their ghosts for company, the consolation of her success a bittersweet drug to numb the pain?

All those days between what they had been and what they were now, forever lost – no regret or anger would win them the right of a replay. But perhaps they still had the chance of stealing tomorrow; of reclaiming the piece of themselves left behind, placing their stones and pillars to build a new sacred place, a new life.

“In my darkest moments, it helped.” She listened his deep voice say from where he stood by the door, his eyes secluded. “Knowing that what I did had some meaning. I celebrated each one of yer victories from afar, as I couldna be kissing ye as I wished.”

“It was your choice.” Claire replied, forcibly closing the drawer.

“Aye.” Jamie said, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “I told ye – I dinna regret _what_ I did. But I do regret every tear you shed and every unhappiness I may have caused ye. _That_ I regret…most terribly.”

“If I hadn’t come back and found you by accident…” She said, her arms hugging her body in defence. “Would you ever tell me the truth?”

He tilted his head, his auburn hair coming alive with the slight reflection of the white glow outside. Jamie walked until he was closer to her - able to touch her in an instant, if it wasn’t for the barrier they had both fought so hard to erect.

“There was a time when I thought it a blessing to know what ye were thinking at all times.” He licked his lips and closed his eyes, his long lashes shielding bottomless blue. “ _My glass faced lass_. Now I only see yer pain and yer hate - and it kills me. I’d rather be dead than to see ye so. No – I wouldna say a thing. I wished to let ye live yer life and, hopefully, forget me.”

“How could I forget you?” She whispered. “And how can I forgive you?”

“I’m prepared to wait as long as it takes, Claire.” Jamie swallowed hard. “And if it canna be in this life, I shall pray for a chance to meet ye again in the next - and find yer forgiveness there.”

 “I don’t know how to start.” Claire brushed her forehead with her fingers, breathing fast. “I don’t know what to say to you.”

“Tell me how I’ve hurt ye.” Jamie slowly touched her hand. “Speak to me about what has been broken. I am still the man ye loved – and what ye dinna ken about me now, you can learn in time.”

“And if I don’t want to?” She said slowly, tilting her chin to avoid his scorching gaze.

“Then know I shall love ye forever.” Jamie brushed her knuckles with the fingers of his sane hand. “Ye are my home, _mo nighean donn_.”

“This home is _lost_ , Jamie.” She sobbed, the pressure of his fingers making her flesh tingle. How many times had they stood there, him whispering his love, her believing it with all her heart?

They were bathed almost in complete darkness – night had fallen outside and the scarce light that came from the lamppost by the window dipped them in shadows. Jamie swished, as if he was about to fall on his knees – but his hand came up then and he touched her cheek, insecure and tentative.

“But it can be found again.” He softly kissed her forehead, real against the absence of light surrounding them. “Find me, Claire. _Find us.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter to go! Thank you so much to everyone reading and leaving such lovely comments!


	8. Master of Me

**Chapter 8 – Master of Me**

**_Edinburgh, Present day_ **

_Find me._

_Find us._

There is only so much time a person can spend in equilibrium on a minuscule wire above an abyss. Soon enough the pull of gravity and the useable forces of the body will act towards an ending – may it be the fall to the crushing void; or the decision to risk taking a step forward, eventually coming as a victor on the other side.

Claire stood still, listening to the plea in Jamie’s voice, her breath coming superficial and laboured, as she had been running away from him for the entire duration of ten years. His eyes were hooded, preparing themselves to be denied. The skin of her forehead, where he had kissed her, tingled and throbbed, like the makings of a new heart, exposed and hopeful under her weak surface.

Not knowing if she was falling – or indeed starting a journey to the end of her crossing – Claire closed the space between them and kissed Jamie’s lips. The taste of him was almost the same, as she had just kissed him goodbye on the airport moments ago – inebriating and sweet, as apples coated in cinnamon and rich, dark, brown sugar. He kissed her back, offering her the gift of restraint, allowing her to go as deep as she wanted; to take only a parcel of him or everything at once. His tongue mastered Claire’s secrets - for it had been used to speak the truth in her heart for so long - and soon enough she was pressed against him, desperate and wanting.

Jamie took a step back, momentarily parting their mouths, so he could look into her eyes, his hands entangling on her unruly hair. Claire nuzzled his neck and kissed him there, her tongue darting to taste the salt and essence of his skin - sun and mist, like Scotland’s hills - relishing on the formed trail of goosebumps, testimony of his arousal.

“I want you so much I can scarcely breathe.” She whispered, her fists grabbing his shirt in demonstration, as their bodies gently swayed together. “I feel I’ll die without your touch, Jamie.”

“Then have me.” Jamie breathed out, almost choked. “Do with me as ye wish, _mo nighean donn_. Show me.”

Claire might be falling, for her entire body seemed reversed - her heart pumping outside her chest, drawn to him; her fingertips breathing like small greedy lungs, with the solidness and realness of him underneath them as saving air. But this was the only decision left – she could let go of anger, pain and resentment and help him find a pathway to redemption, where she could meet him with her nakedness; or she could turn her back on him, punishing him but tearing herself apart again, sole victor of a battle with no survivors.

Slowly but surely, she started to unbutton her blouse, her eyes never leaving his – she saw desire and fear there and knew it reflected her own. They had been lovers for so long, experts in what made the other scream and dissolve – but that knowledge too had been buried in boxes, locked away as useless, for there could never be another to make sense of it again. As she slid down her jeans, noticing how his eyes watched her appearing skin as a revelation of something holy, Claire realized that time and circumstance made strangers out of lovers – but the path still existed to be followed in reverse, possible to find again that common ground of shared intimacy.

Standing only in her underwear, Claire started to undress him. He barely moved and his breathing came shallow, as a drowning man welcoming the bliss of the last gush of cold water. His fingers brushed her neck, where a delicate silver chain had been revealed – hanging from it, and nestled against her heart as a secret lock ready to open it, was her silver wedding ring.

“I thought I’d never see it again.” He said in a quivering voice, bending to kiss the top of her breast next to it.

“I have been wearing it since the day I found you in the hospital.” Claire confessed, caressing the powerful muscles of his chest, taut and beautiful. “I had to.”

“Why?” Jamie asked, helping her as she struggled to free him of his trousers, his arousal ardent and evident between them.

“You know why.” Claire framed his face with her hands, looking into his eyes. “I never stopped loving you, Jamie. I was so angry – couldn’t wear it or even bear looking at it, because it reminded me of what I lost. But I’m as married to you now as I was the day you gave it to me. I wanted it close to me – I wanted _you_ close.”

Jamie growled as a possessive animal, taking her on his embrace, as he ravished her mouth. His skilled hands, trembling but practiced, managed to free her of her bra. He roughly grabbed her by the buttocks and she held on to him, as he carried her to their old bedroom.

The room was bathed in shadows, as the soft moonlight filtered through the slightly opened curtains – blue as Jamie’s eyes, the colour Claire had picked. The intense blue that filled her dreams, where she could sleep and rest protected, where she could build her home.

He sat on the bed, taking her with him. They kissed thoroughly, famished like wild beasts, demanding retribution in a second for years of lost touches. Claire traced the pinkish lines of his recent scars, tender and salient as blooming mountains, and kissed the knuckles of his bandaged hand.

“Lay down.” Claire asked in a murmur and he obeyed, observing in adoration as she straddled him. Air hitching in her throat like a sob, she moved and he invaded her – or she invited him in, welcoming and ready, her body moulding to him like blessed and fragrant clay.

Jamie placed his hands on her hips, grounding her against him, but she swiftly took them away and trapped his wrists with her fingers, imprisoning him to the bed.

“You won’t touch me.” She commanded, their eyes locking. “Not until _I_ say so. Do you understand me?”

“Aye.” Jamie moaned, as she rolled her hips on top of him in defiance of his self-assurance.

“I need you to _understand_ , Jamie.” Claire closed her eyes, struggling not to allow the sensation of him inside her, hot and pulsing, to overwhelm her at once. “You have to surrender to me. To know that I am your master – and you’re mine. You have to leave this bed knowing that you belong here, with me. That I have your heart and you have mine – neither of us can live apart from each other.”

“ _Yours_.” He agreed, clenching his teeth as he fought the will to touch her, to have her pinned under him, dissolving and screaming his name. “Ye are the master of me, _mo ghraidh_. Command me – heal me, Claire.”

“No more lies, James Fraser.” She demanded with her voice and body, twisting herself in such a way that made him moan a faint “ _Ah”_. “You can’t lie to me, ever again. Do it - and I’ll cut your balls out with the sharpest scalpel I have.”

Jamie’s hand raised from the sheets, escaping her control for a moment. His palm delicately covered her breast, shielding the place where her wedding ring touched her bared skin.

“Ye have my word. No more lies, Claire.” He vowed in a husky voice. If he was making a solemn promise over her beating heart or over the metal that had been forged in their love, Claire couldn’t say. But once upon a time they had been one and the same – precious to him beyond possibility of breaking.

“Come to me, Jamie.” She urged him, wildly rocking against him, as evanescent galaxies began to form on the periphery of her vision. “I’m here. I found you. _I found you_.” Claire repeated and his fingers finally entwined with hers, offering her his release as endless rain in a stormy sea.

****

Claire suddenly opened her eyes, immediately alert. Her heart – amazingly able to beat in such a frantic rhythm, after the demands of the last few hours – was hammering, the knowledge of Jamie’s absence from their bed haunting as an appearing ghost.

She rolled on her stomach and saw him, standing by the window like a statue carved in graphite, his hands bracing the window sill. He was naked, his ancient and newfound scars glowing like kisses of moonlight – and on his face tears shone like droplets of liquid wax from luminous candles, running freely as rivers rushing to the delta.

“Jamie.” Claire called his name softly, trying not to frighten him. She untangled herself from the crumpled sheets and walked to him. “What is it?”

“I was dreaming of ye.” He said, his voice a deep rasp. “I could hear yer voice in the house, but couldna find ye – I knew ye were drifting away from me, but I was powerless to stop it. I couldna force myself to open my eyes – so afraid it wasna a dream after all.”

She nodded - her heart aching with the knowledge of his pain and guilt – and touched his hand, squeezing his fingers in reassurance.

“It was just a dream, Jamie.” She told him. “I’m here now.”

“So many nights I wept in front of this window.” Jamie smiled tentatively, sadness and tenderness battling on his features. “I mourned the loss of what we had. I cried for I knew I wasna a whole man - and had lost all faith of ever becoming such a thing again. But now, my Sassenach…” He hugged her, bringing her closer to his still-warm body. “I weep of joy. I weep because I have a chance to redeem myself; to love ye and prove ye that ye alone hold all my heart.”

“It won’t be easy, Jamie.” Claire swallowed hard, her voice rough after their lovemaking. “We have a long way to go to become what we once were. It will take time and patience.”

“I ken that, Claire.” He caressed her cheek, his eyes fierce and intent. “And I’m willing to do as ye wish, until all my debts are paid.”

“My entire life I was so many things, Jamie.” Claire whispered softly. “Daughter for a short time. Niece for longer. Friend to some – Healer for many more. Student. Lover. Wife. Doctor. Surgeon.” She kissed the hollow of his throat, her lips coming alive with the intensity of the pulse that ran there. “But I was never as happy as I am here, in the darkness, with you – nameless.”

His fingers traced her, from brow to neck - learning her again, shaping her from his dreams - and he held the silver ring, the hope and longing in his voice caressing her in time with his hands.

“Will ye wear it again, Claire?” Jamie asked in a whisper.

He was offering her the choice he had denied her all those years ago. She had loved him once, with all her heart – and he had decided to abdicate of that love for her sake. Claire could still reject him; could still decide the past was too much to bear, even together. And there was the alternative - daunting and bright as the sky after the end of days - to accept the ring and all that went with it.

Looking through the glassed doors to the balcony, she saw it – a different vase, filled with blooming forget-me-nots; gently swaying on the night’s breeze, whispering to her of beginnings and promises. With astonishing clarity, she knew Jamie had took a seedling from her vase before he gave it to her in Boston – keeping it secure under his eyes, hopefully alive for her to retrieve it someday. _Remembering her. Hoping._

Wordless, she took the chain from her neck and slid the ring back on her finger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue to come!


	9. Tomorrow Is Now

**Epilogue – Tomorrow is Now**

**_Edinburgh, 13 years ago_ **

“Close your eyes.” Jamie insisted, whispering in her ear. “Dinna be a wee cheater, Sassenach. You’ll spoil the surprise.”

“I’m not cheating!” Claire declared, irritated. “I’m just worried I’ll fall on my face, that’s all.”

“Don’t ye worry.” She could hear the obvious smile in his voice. “I’d still love ye - even with a crocked nose.”

“How magnanimous of you.” She puffed, walking slowly with the guidance of his hand on her arm. “Are we there yet?”

“Yes.” Jamie surprised her by kissing her lips and then removing the blockage of her hands from her eyes. “Tell me what ye think.”

They were standing in an empty apartment, the big windows harnessing enough of the afternoon light to make the wood boards on the floor look like decadent fields of gold.

“It’s very…” Claire licked her lips, looking for an appropriate word to say, noticing his expectant demeanour. “Empty.”

“Ach.” He clicked his tongue and opened his arms, a big grin forming on his lips. “That is only a matter of buying the right furniture for it. But do ye like it?”

“I – yes.” She looked around, noticing the wide kitchen bench and the freshly painted walls. “It’s lovely, really. But why are we here?”

“Well,” Jamie hugged her by the waist and pressed his forehead against hers, his voice sounding like the sheltering roar of the earth underneath her feet. “I was hoping you could make it my home if you married me.”

****

**_Edinburgh, 1 year in the future_ **

“Lady Jane!” Joe thundered, as he saw her striding next to a patient’s gurney, accompanying him to the recovery ward after a long surgery. “I barely recognized you, girl! You look all tanned and sparkly. How was Jamaica?”

“Hot.” Claire laughed, watching the corners of his mouth twitch in a devilish grin. “I _meant_ the _weather_ was very warm, you naughty man.” Noticing that his smile didn’t fade away, but was only enhanced by significant movements of his eyebrows that made him look like a crazy cartoon, she smiled and conceded. “Well, _that_ too.”

“I had no doubt!” Her friend laughed openly, sounding like an amused bear. “I have seen you with your Scot enough to know that, any tropical storm in the area, was probably caused by you two going at it.”

“Oh, stop!” She playfully smacked him in the arm, her cheeks throbbing with heat. “How is everything here?”

“Same old, same old.” Joe replied with a sudden strange attempt at nonchalance. “You haven’t been at the nurses’ desk yet, have you?”

“No.” Claire furrowed her brows. “I was a bit late this morning because of… _reasons_ ,” She ignored his smirk. “And went straight to the OR to the kidney transplant. Shall I go there now?”

“No!” The man said vehemently, grabbing her elbow and steering her towards the cafeteria. “I’m that hungry. Shall we go for some dinner?”

“It’s three o’clock in the afternoon, Joe.” Claire gave him a questioning look. “What are you trying to hide?”

“Nothing, LJ.” He shook his head, patting her shoulder in a reassuring manner. “You know my stomach didn’t come with a built-in clock. I’m more of a _“eat whenever you’re hungry”_ type of guy.”

“What is in the nurses’ desk that you don’t want me to see?” She halted and crossed her arms, offering him a disarming look, suitable for young children misbehaving with their soup. “Spill it, Joe. We both know I’ll find out soon enough.”

“Fine!” Joe threw his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. “I was just trying to spare you. But please, Lady Jane, you need to keep it cool. I’m sure he had the best possible intentions…”

Before Joe was able to complete his sentence, Claire was already sliding past him and marching in the direction of the nurses’ area. As soon as she became visible making a turn on the corridor, two nurses jumped from their seats – they had been whispering with their heads together, looking at something – and stood like two soldiers on a parade, their hands hidden behind their backs, blushing madly.

“So,” Claire smiled pleasantly, taking off her surgical cap and brushing the mad riot of curls, eager to finally be wild and free after so much time in confinement, like eels on a barrel. “What is going on here?”

“Doctor Fraser.” The younger nurse saluted her, looking slightly out of breath. “So good to see you. How was your honeymoon?”

“Fine, Nurse Hawkins.” She nodded, tapping her fingers on the counter in an evident display of impatience. Both nurses looked at her hand like disciplined cats, fascinated by the repeated movement. “There seems to be some kind of disturbance taking place here. I want to know what is going on.”

“LJ…” Joe started, trying to block her vision from the nurses. She gave him a look so dark and dangerous that he immediately retroceded to her side.

“Let’s hear it.” Claire repeated, glancing at the nurses under her lashes and placing all her imaginary coins on the beat of Mary Hawkins breaking in seconds under pressure – too bad it was only the casino of her mind, because it was a smashing jackpot.

“We were just looking at it, Doctor Fraser.” Mary explained in a high pitched voice, slightly stammering. “We meant no disrespect. It’s a beautiful work and such a good cause.”

“Give it to me!” She demanded, reaching out with her open palm. Slowly but surely, Mary Hawkins delivered her the source of all the ruckus.

It was a calendar commissioned by the Fire Department, sold to raise funds for a new Burn Centre and to support the widows and children of fallen firefighters. The calendar was illustrated with photographs of gorgeous men in the corporation – and front and centre, occupying almost two thirds of the cover, was James Fraser. He had been photographed sitting in a chair of the headquarters, naked from the waist up, the suspenders of his loose equipment trousers falling along his hips. His hair was tousled and he looked like he had just arrived from a massive fire, finally relaxed and at ease – except his eyes were playing with the camera, teasing of his secrets, undoubtedly igniting other flames on the belly of any woman looking at it.

 “Oh.” Claire said in excitement, her finger absentmindedly caressing his exposed chest. “It’s finally out!”

“You knew about this?” Joe asked, gobsmacked. “That your husband is featuring in a steamy calendar, which probably will be the erotic fantasy of every female in the Edinburgh area?”

“Of course.” She raised a brow. “Who do you think took the photo?”

****

“Hmmm. Don’t stop!” Claire moaned, her toes curling in pleasure. “That is definitely the spot, Jamie. Keep going!”

“Hmpf.” Jamie snorted from the other extremity of the bed, skilfully massaging the sole of her foot. “Yer wee noises are making my cock ache, Sassenach. If it’s really yer foot ye want me to massage, best ye stop.”

“Again?” She smiled lazily, watching as his knuckles applied pressure on her battered points. “We did it this morning, already. And twice last night.”

“It’s fortunate there’s not a limit to it, then.” He bit her big toe making her yelp, as his hands went on to rub her calf. “Even when I’m still inside ye, I’m already missing ye.”

“How many love letters did you receive today?” Claire asked, nudging him with her free foot. “I’m expecting the mailman already knows your name by heart.”

“They are more _lust letters_.” Jamie sighed, letting go of her leg and stretching next to her in bed, playing with her curls. “About a dozen or so. Apparently there is another man called James Fraser in this area who has been receiving some by mistake – he is sixty and dinna understand why all of the sudden so many women were sending him photos in their undergarments and making indignant advances on him by mail.”

“Lucky man.” Claire laughed. “May your success serve him well.”

“Ye ken what day is it today?” He stroked her small, pointy, ear and temple, gluing their bodies together.

“I do.” She kissed the tip of his jaw, feeling the small stubble prickling her lips like fresh grass. “Fourteen years ago we were married for the first time.”  

“Aye.” He kissed her mouth, tasting her lower lip, the pressure of his teeth just enough to make her moan against him. “I have a wee present for ye.”

He retrieved a small package from his nightstand and she unwrapped it, kissing him amidst the confusion of paper and ribbon. It was a custom made blue surgical cap, clearly designed for her, with a forget-me-not embroidered on the side and underneath it, printed after his own handwriting, the words _“Da mi basia mille”._

“It’s beautiful, Jamie.” She said in a husky voice, a knot forming on her throat – it was always disarming to realize how much he knew her and appreciated her. “I - I have something for you too.” Claire added slowly.

“Aye?” He smiled, so tender and alight that her body was immediately blazing just to see it. His eyes shone blue and knowing, with a hint of mischief hidden in the deepest pools of blue sea.

“You know, don’t you?” Claire realized, their noses almost touching - their eyes so close they could plunge into each other without taking another breath. Slowly, like a dance learnt in another life and scripted into their DNA for permanent remembrance, their hands entwined - silver wedding rings meeting like titans clashing together.

“I know, _mo nighean donn_.” Jamie nodded and his hand came to rest solid and sure on her stomach - cradling the tomorrow they had lost, fought to earn again and hoped for with all their hearts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words fail to say how much I appreciate everyone who invested in this fic, followed it until here, left comments, supported me and made me feel one lucky lady. I'm sorry if in any way you were disappointed, but this was the story I wanted to tell - about second chances, forgiveness and hope. Thank you so very much! <3


End file.
